kind sir,” she mocked with a bowed head.
Scott laughed. He was actually lost for words and was worried about putting his foot in it and digging himself into a deeper hole, so thought better of replying with anything for a moment.
Cara was wearing a navy blue, short-sleeve, figure-hugging dress that showed off her hour-glass figure and ample chest, which Scott thought she hid very well during the day. Her dark brown hair cascaded long and straight over her shoulders and down the front of her chest, her dark brown eyes warm and inviting.
Scott felt brave enough to comment without putting his foot in his mouth. “You look stunning.”
“It comes easy,” she replied, shrugging and flicking her hair back with one hand in a mock gesture of self-adulation.
“You could have made an effort, too,” she added, looking him up and down.
“Erm, sorry, I….”
“I’m joking, Scott,” she laughed.
In a valiant effort to defend himself, he replied, “I’ll have you know that this is a Paul Smith Suit.”
“You sure it’s not a suit from a vintage shop in the North Laines?” Cara teased.
In a fruitless attempt to quell her mischievous onslaught, he pointed around the bar, “Do you see anyone else splitting their sides with laughter?”
Cara finally calmed herself. “You know I’m just pulling your leg, but you’re an easy target.”
“I’ll remember to come in a black bin liner next time.”
“Who says there’ll be a next time?”
“Fair point.”
“Well if you do, make sure there’s nothing under it,” she winked.
Scott laughed, but reflected on the different side to her that he’d not seen before in their day to day contact. He liked her keen sense of humour, and of course laughter that had been missing in his life over recent years. At least she was good at breaking the ice and saved him having to do it.
After getting Cara a large Cabernet Sauvignon, they grabbed a table towards the back of the bar and sat opposite each other. He opted for the uncomfortable bar stool, whilst giving her the comfy seat against the wall.
“How’s the case going?”
“The term slowly but surely comes to mind. I’ve made some inroads, but I’m still missing the breakthrough. I know the victims knew each other. But why they were murdered still eludes me.”
She took of a large gulp, and breathed out a sigh of relaxation and closed her eyes for a brief second to relish the feeling of the wine hitting the spot.
“Is this one taxing you then?”
“Just a bit, I’ve had murder cases before, but multiple connected murders are new to me. The DCI’s been helpful, but it’s my case to solve.”
“So what’s your theory?”
“My hunch is that they got in over their heads with another drugs supplier, and paid the ultimate price. I can’t see another reason at the moment.”
“What’s the deal with the money in the mouth?” questioned Cara.
“Not sure, perhaps they stitched someone up or stole their money, and the killer left money to suggest that you can have my money but only when you’re dead,” Scott offered, shrugging and holding out his hands.
“That’s plausible,” she nodded. “But why not just kill them? Why leaving a calling card of some sorts? I think there’s more to it, personally.”
“True, but it’s early days yet, the investigation’s starting to get some traction, and with the fibre from the first victim matching someone who died three years ago, it opens up a different avenue for us. It could be connected or a pure coincidence.”
“So we going to talk shop all night?” Cara asked pretending to stifle a yawn.
“Erm, didn’t you suggest a drink to discuss theories?”
“Guilty, your honour,” She held up a hand in mock submission.
The conversation flowed comfortably between them about the places they’d visited, favorite foods and what they got up to in their spare time.
“Anyway, so tell me, why pathology? It’s a pretty grim role. Hardly a conversation
Scott laughed. He was actually lost for words and was worried about putting his foot in it and digging himself into a deeper hole, so thought better of replying with anything for a moment.
Cara was wearing a navy blue, short-sleeve, figure-hugging dress that showed off her hour-glass figure and ample chest, which Scott thought she hid very well during the day. Her dark brown hair cascaded long and straight over her shoulders and down the front of her chest, her dark brown eyes warm and inviting.
Scott felt brave enough to comment without putting his foot in his mouth. “You look stunning.”
“It comes easy,” she replied, shrugging and flicking her hair back with one hand in a mock gesture of self-adulation.
“You could have made an effort, too,” she added, looking him up and down.
“Erm, sorry, I….”
“I’m joking, Scott,” she laughed.
In a valiant effort to defend himself, he replied, “I’ll have you know that this is a Paul Smith Suit.”
“You sure it’s not a suit from a vintage shop in the North Laines?” Cara teased.
In a fruitless attempt to quell her mischievous onslaught, he pointed around the bar, “Do you see anyone else splitting their sides with laughter?”
Cara finally calmed herself. “You know I’m just pulling your leg, but you’re an easy target.”
“I’ll remember to come in a black bin liner next time.”
“Who says there’ll be a next time?”
“Fair point.”
“Well if you do, make sure there’s nothing under it,” she winked.
Scott laughed, but reflected on the different side to her that he’d not seen before in their day to day contact. He liked her keen sense of humour, and of course laughter that had been missing in his life over recent years. At least she was good at breaking the ice and saved him having to do it.
After getting Cara a large Cabernet Sauvignon, they grabbed a table towards the back of the bar and sat opposite each other. He opted for the uncomfortable bar stool, whilst giving her the comfy seat against the wall.
“How’s the case going?”
“The term slowly but surely comes to mind. I’ve made some inroads, but I’m still missing the breakthrough. I know the victims knew each other. But why they were murdered still eludes me.”
She took of a large gulp, and breathed out a sigh of relaxation and closed her eyes for a brief second to relish the feeling of the wine hitting the spot.
“Is this one taxing you then?”
“Just a bit, I’ve had murder cases before, but multiple connected murders are new to me. The DCI’s been helpful, but it’s my case to solve.”
“So what’s your theory?”
“My hunch is that they got in over their heads with another drugs supplier, and paid the ultimate price. I can’t see another reason at the moment.”
“What’s the deal with the money in the mouth?” questioned Cara.
“Not sure, perhaps they stitched someone up or stole their money, and the killer left money to suggest that you can have my money but only when you’re dead,” Scott offered, shrugging and holding out his hands.
“That’s plausible,” she nodded. “But why not just kill them? Why leaving a calling card of some sorts? I think there’s more to it, personally.”
“True, but it’s early days yet, the investigation’s starting to get some traction, and with the fibre from the first victim matching someone who died three years ago, it opens up a different avenue for us. It could be connected or a pure coincidence.”
“So we going to talk shop all night?” Cara asked pretending to stifle a yawn.
“Erm, didn’t you suggest a drink to discuss theories?”
“Guilty, your honour,” She held up a hand in mock submission.
The conversation flowed comfortably between them about the places they’d visited, favorite foods and what they got up to in their spare time.
“Anyway, so tell me, why pathology? It’s a pretty grim role. Hardly a conversation
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